Vision
by AmazingMahu
Summary: Gilbert is a full-time photography major at the Universite de Montreal; Matthew is an often invisible, seldom employed artist sharing a small apartment with his American half-brother. When their worlds collide at a fall festival in the park, neither can predict the challenges that await them in the form of overly protective polar bears and spilt maple syrup.Human AU.PruCan/sideUKUS


**AN: My gift to you PruCan shippers. Have fun with this… whatever it is. Love it hate it, I don't care as long as you read it. ^_^ Привет from Professor Брагинский!**

"_Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others."_

_-Jonathan Swift_

Gilbert Beilschmidt was unbelievably fortunate. He had a large shared dorm with his two best friends in the whole world, the incredible gift of photography and writing, and a full-ride scholarship to Université de Montréal, the best art school in Quebec. He had everything a young artist desired: plenty of materials ,lots of inspiration, a lax schedule, and, best of all, employment! He worked part-time as a photo-journalist for an English newspaper, which would look totally awesome on his résumé when he eventually applied for a real full-time job. Life was good.

It was October, which meant the fall festival was in full swing at Three Bares Park. The McGill Farmers' Market drew hungry parkgoers of all walks of life, and by the second day, all sorts of vendors, craftsman, and street performers lined the sidewalks and filled the crisp autumn air with music and laughter. Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis decided to take the bike ride to the park together, then divide and conquer, getting all kinds of food to share when they returned to their dorm in the evening, as they'd done for the past two years.

"I'm going to eat so many tomatoes I'll burst," laughed Antonio as he sped ahead of his friends on a ten-speed bicycle as red as the fruit he so admired. Francis quickly matched his pace and cruised beside him.

"Better watch out, _mon_ _ami_, or you'll turn into a tomato!" he teased. Gilbert laughed his unique little laugh and steered his bike with one hand as he tucked his fluffy Gilbird in the folds of his black scarf. It had been a great day so far: he had awesomely aced a European Literature test earlier, gotten an awesome review on his photography portfolio (a work in progress), and somehow had avoided an un-awesome run-in with Professor Braginski, the scariest teacher at the university. Why they let a psychopath like that in a school escaped Gilbert…

He was distracted from his musings by a sudden small _bump _that quickly turned into a large _crash _and a very loud "_Scheiße_!" as his bicycle lurched to the side. When his vision cleared, Gilbert saw that he had run over a stick and fallen down, getting his leg caught in the spokes, making for several very nasty cuts up his left leg and a killer scrape on his right elbow.

"Gilbert!" cried Antonio as he dropped his bike and ran back to his friend who was slowly sitting up and disentangling his limbs from the twisted metal. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Ow… _not _awesome…" came his grumbled reply. Francis swooped down upon him like a blue-caped bat (Francis called the cape a fashion statement; Gilbert called it fashion suicide) and began speaking in rapid French and rifling through Gilbert's satchel ("It's _not _a purse, _bruder_!").

"_Caray_, look at all the blood!"

"Not helping, Antonio," groaned Gilbert, who was trying to staunch the bleeding with his scarf. Gilbird flew out in a huff and nested in his hair.

"Aha!" Francis pulled a roll of gauze from the depths of the bag. Gilbert wondered how it got in there in the first place. After a few minutes, Francis was satisfied with his work and began lecturing Gilbert about the importance of cleaning and disinfecting the wound. Antonio looked amused.

"When did you become a doctor, Frenchy?" he chuckled, helping Gilbert to his feet. Francis huffed and picked up his bike. Gilbert grinned.

"Come on, Toni, we all know he just wanted an excuse to fondle my awesome leg, right, Francis?" The Frenchman rolled his eyes and began to ride away.

"If it makes you feel any better," he called over the wind, "_oui_!" Gilbert stuck his tongue out at his retreating back and waved Antonio away when he tried to help.

"You go on ahead, I'll just walk. We're just a block away," he said, stuffing the scarf into his bag and grabbing his orange bike. "I guess I'll see you guys later?" Antonio nodded and waved goodbye before he disappeared over the hill. Gilbert reached into his satchel and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his camera, a Sony Cyber-shot HX300, was unharmed in its protective case.

A few minutes later, Gilbert arrived at the park. He locked his bike to the first rack he saw and decided to take a different route from last year, starting with the crafts instead of the food. He pulled out his camera and slid the neck strap over his head. As he strolled through the park he could feel the stares of strangers- and he loved it.

He liked the looks of confusion at his snow white hair, pale skin, and ruby red eyes. He had albinism, and though he wasn't proud of it, he rocked it for all it was worth, pairing a black hoodie with a white t-shirt and red knee-high converse shoes for even more contrast. He smiled right back at them and waved at a pretty brunette girl he recognized from Advanced Journalism class. She always wore a flower in her long hair and was clinging to the arm of the snobby Austrian pianist who lived in the dorm directly below his. Suddenly, he felt a chill and turned around to see Professor Braginski smiling down at him.

"Fancy seeing you here, Gilbert!" he said in that creepily high voice. "Shouldn't you be working on your portfolio?" _Alright_, thought Gilbert. _I am _not _gonna let this weirdo creep me out._ Gilbert smiled nervously.

"Of course, Professor Braginski. I was just… uh…" His eyes suddenly landed on a small, half- finished painting of a cloud-filled sky with a beautiful, shimmering rainbow on an easel. The artist had his back turned and was cleaning his brushes. Gilbert gestured wildly towards the painting. "You see, my friend here asked me to include his art in my portfolio. I was just getting some shots of him in action for my new piece called uh… "Artists in Action". Professor Braginksi's face never lost its cheery but distant expression.

"That sounds very… interesting. You must show me when it's done, da?" Gilbert smiled, thinking he was safe,

"Da- I mean, yes, definitely." Ivan's eyes gained a cold gleam.

"Ah, Gilbert, where are your manners? You must introduce me to this friend of yours!" Gilbert turned around, praying the artist had left so he could try to lie his way out of it. But it seemed his luck had run out. The artist had stepped forward, perhaps sensing that they were talking about him.

"Hello," he breathed. "I'm Matthew Williams, and I guess you're Gilbert's teacher, eh?" Gilbert's Jaw dropped. Did this stranger just… help him?

"Well, Gilbert? I'm waiting. Where is your friend?" Gilbert was confused.

"What do you mean, Professor Braginski? He's right in front of you." The professor grinned even wider, if that was even possible.

"Ah, Matvey! There you are. I haven't seen you in years-" suddenly, Ivan's phone began ringing and when he saw the caller ID, his eyes grew wide and he immediately answered and began speaking in Russian. He hung up a few seconds later, looking relieved. "I will see you in class tomorrow, Gilbert, and I want to see progress on that portfolio!" Gilbert shuddered as the larger man disappeared into the crowd. There was no way he would sign up for that lunatic's class next year. He turned his attention back to the easel.

He saw several other canvases on the ground behind it covered with towels and cloths. He wondered if they were blank and reached out to lift one, but his wrist was grabbed by cold, slender fingers that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

His eyes traced the hand to an arm draped in red fabric, then up to a thin shoulder and neck and golden curls tied back, with one on top that stood of its own accord, and then to a face… an incredible face. His cheeks were thin, but his features were smooth; wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his tiny nose; and his eyes were deep seas of violet, inviting yet mysterious. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and amusement, a look one would give to a misbehaving child.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said softly in a saccharine voice that could melt the polar ice caps faster than you can say "global warming". They stared at each other, for solid minute before a small white blur flew at Gilbert's chest and knocked him to the ground.

"Argh! Get it off me!" he yelled. He heard a giggle- a _giggle_- and the white furball of fury returned to his master's arms.

"Kumakiku, what did I tell you about jumping on weird, freaky strangers?" he baby-talked, scratching the- wait, was that a _freaking polar bear_?- behind the ears.

"Hey!" yelled Gilbert. "I'm right here! I can hear you… Are you even listening to me?" He stared in disbelief as Gilbird flew out of his hair-nest and perched carefully on the single unruly curl and the smocked Canadian laughed.

"I'm guessing he's yours?" he asked in the voice- _Why won't he stop it with that freaking voice?_- as he rubbed the little yellow bird's head. Gilbert frowned.

"And that little white demon is yours?" The artist laughed again and placed the bear in Gilbert's arms. He accepted it hesitantly. "Ugh, this thing weighs a ton. What do you feed it?"

"Kumayaki is a _him_, not an _it_. And to answer your question, pancakes, mostly." Gilbert somehow managed not to point out that if he was so sure about the gender, he should memorize the thing's name. "Anyway, I'd really better start packing up…" He glanced at the sky. Gilbert was surprised.

"Come on, the day's not half over! And if all your paintings are this good, you could make some serious money!" The artist blushed and shook his head, shoving art supplies at random into a plastic box under his easel. "Well, can I see the others?" Matthew glanced up and wordlessly began to remove the cloths from the canvases. Gilbert was amazed as one by one, the paintings were revealed to him : an ocean so blue it invited him to come swim; a garden so green it seemed to grow from the paint; an alien planet covered in ice and snow, orbiting an unknown star; an apple tree covered in what appeared to be delicious fruit; a beautiful young girl with angel wings; and a majestic eagle soaring through the sky.

"Wow… These are great!"

"Please stop. I see what you're trying to do." Gilbert looked up, confused.

"What?"

"You want me to sell one to you, don't you?" Gilbert wasn't sure what to say. Would it be ruder to say he did or didn't want them? He sighed. "Okay then, kid. At least let me buy you lunch. You really saved my awesome hide just now." The artist raised an eyebrow. _Holy mother of god that was adorable… Wait, I did _not _just think that… Please kill me now…_

"I have a name, Gilbert. It's Matthew. And-" he glanced at the sky again "-lunch doesn't seem like _too _terrible an idea. In fact, I would love it. I really like the pancakes that vendor has over there-"

"Wait, wait, wait, pancakes? For lunch?" Matthew looked confused.

"Yeah? What do you eat for lunch?" Gilbert laughed and began walking in the general direction of the food vendors.

"You know… Pizza. Sandwiches. Soup. Hamburgers. Normal stuff." Matthew smiled playfully.

"_Normal _is a relative term. For example, it was most definitely _not _normal for you to notice me."

"What do you mean? You're pretty freaking noticeable to me…" _Oh God I didn't just say that out loud… did I? _Matthew grinned from ear to ear.

"You really think so? No one else seems to see me. That's why no one ever buys my paintings. I try getting them noticed for a week or so, but by the time anyone stops to look at them, I'm too attached to them to sell them, you see?" Gilbert did not see, but he did feel bad for the little guy… Well, big guy, he realized with a start. Matthew stood a full three inches taller than him. He just slouched a lot.

Suddenly, Matthew stopped and sniffed at the air. The bear did the same. Gilbert wondered what was going on. Just as suddenly, Matthew grabbed Gilbert's arm and began dragging him toward a table covered in stacks of jars of honey and maple syrup. Both pet and owner were practically salivating at the sight of the sticky stuff. The painter glanced at the price tag- C$4.00 for a jar of organic maple syrup- and frowned. Gilbert realized the problem and, while the other man's back was turned, grabbed a jar and placed the money on the table, much to the confusion of the McGill student at the table who realized after the white haired man had dashed away that he had overpaid by over C$15.

They chatted as they walked; Gilbert told Matthew all about his friends and classes, and Matthew told Gilbert about his dreams and ideas. By the time they reached the vendor, they felt as though they'd known each other for years. They sat in the shade of an umbrella and ordered their Ultimate Pancakes and while they were waiting, Gilbert pulled out the bottle of syrup from his bag and placed it in Matthew's hands.

"I, uh, saw you wanted this so I, uh… yeah…" _Why can't I speak to him? _He waited for a reply, but all he received was a hug.

"Thanks, Gil!" cried Matthew. "This is… awesome!" Suddenly, a clap of thunder shook the table and rain began pouring down in sheets. A wild wave of emotion flashed in Matthew's eyes- was it fear? Anger? Gilbert didn't have a chance to ask as the blonde-haired man bolted from the table with his bear, back in the direction of his paintings. Gilbert jumped to his feet and ran after him, rubbing the wound on his leg painfully. After what felt like hours of running full speed through the pouring rain, he reached the spot where the easel had stood and froze.

Before him was the most agonizing, soul crushing scene he'd ever witnessed. Where once stood magnificent paintings on six tiny easels were ugly, muddied globs of paint, and in place of a rainbow piercing a cloud filled sky was a huge, monochromatic slab slowly drowning a small streak of color in a sea of grey. But that wasn't the worst part of it. No, the worst part was Matthew himself.

He just stood there with his hands in the pockets of his drenched maple leaf sweatshirt, water dripping from his bangs onto his cheeks where it mingled with his tears. He made no move to save his creations, for they were beyond help. Gilbert just wished Matthew would _do _something. If he would just flip over an easel, break a paintbrush, punch Gilbert in the eye for being an idiot… and not just stare at the remains.

Too afraid to speak, Gilbert held Matthew in a hug that was not returned. He held him until the rain stopped and they were the only people left in the park. Eventually, Gilbert spoke.

"Matthew… I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Please don't say that." Gilbert tried to find something in Matthew's face that would tell him something,anything, about what he was thinking. "Don't blame yourself." Then, trancelike, he began to stack the ruined paintings and fold the damp cloths, placing everything into the box except for the large easel, which he tucked under his arm. "I'm going home."

Gilbert watched as the young Canadian walked back in the direction of downtown. _You should say something, _he thought. _I can't let him leave like this!_

But he could… and he did.

~FIN~

**AN: MWAHAHAHAHA! I feast on the tears of the Canada fangirls! Anyway, I promise you a happier ending next chapter, which may or may not be up tomorrow. Also: Who else wouldn't mind having Ivan Braginski as a teacher? That's all for now. This insanely awesome writer needs some sleep. Night, lieblings!**


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